


Sunlight, Blood, Flames, and Glass

by BananasofThorns



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Butterflies, I'm going to apologize in advance for any emotional trauma this may cause, It's gonna get really sad really fast, M/M, Magic, Stephen is one powerful boi, magic gardens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 17:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15369384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananasofThorns/pseuds/BananasofThorns
Summary: Stephen Strange's magic mimics his emotions.Inspired by the Stephen Strange discord (you guys are great)





	1. Chapter 1

One downside - or upside, depending on how you looked at it - of being an incredibly powerful sorcerer was that your magic often materialized when you felt strong emotions. Stephen Strange was all too aware of this.

The first time it happened, it was right after Thanos had been defeated. Stephen and the other avengers were at the compound, resting, healing, and reveling in the fact that they had survived. They were alive.

Stephen was practicing spells and basking in the thrill of life. He didn’t notice anything amiss until sounds of alarm sounded from the other people in the room. Stephen looked up, confused.

“What’s wrong? Please don’t tell me we’re under attack.”

Steve gestured for Stephen to turn around. He did, blinking in astonishment at what he saw. Plants and vines were flowering on the lawn behind him. Butterflies the color of sun rays filtering through the clouds danced through the air, shimmering in and out of view. Stephen stared at the display for a moment before laughing. Shining gold lilies bloomed as he did so. Everyone else stared at him.

“Strange, why are you laughing?” Tony’s words were practically dripping with confusion. Stephen grinned at him.

“It’s not an attack. It’s my magic, responding to my emotions.” Stephen’s voice was overflowing with amusement. He returned to his spells, ignoring everyone gaping at him and his enchanted garden.

The second occurrence was under much more dire circumstances. Tony and Stephen had been attacked while on a walk through Central Park. Tony’s nanotech was fast, but the villain was faster. They hit Tony with a spell that even Stephen didn’t know. The Iron Man was knocked unconscious before he could gasp in pain. Stephen roared in fury, eyesight going red. It was only after the attacker had been utterly pulverized that Stephen truly realized what had happened.

Around him, hundreds of butterflies flickered through the air. Some were a deep blood red, as elegant and graceful as the cloak they so wonderfully matched. Others fluttered through the sky angrily, their wings a flaming copper that could burn you if you came too close. Beautiful, yet deadly.

The butterflies trailed behind him as he returned to the compound, Tony’s limp body in his arms. People stared, but Stephen didn’t care. Neither did his butterflies, hovering protectively around their creator. Eventually, the fire would go out and the blood would dry, but not yet. Not when Tony was so very close to death.

A week later, Stephen sat near Tony’s bed. Through the medbay window, he could see the garden he had created so long ago. The lilies had dulled and the butterflies of sun had been joined by their burning and bloodied kin, but nothing else had changed. Stephen wondered how magic could still amaze him, even after all these years.

A long beep interrupted his musings. Tony’s heart monitor. Stephen rushed to his side, every healing spell he could think of sparking on his fingertips. He tried and tried and tried for what felt like hours, but it was no use. Even his magic, as powerful as it was, could not bring someone back to life. Stephen sunk to his knees, muffled sobs echoing through the room.

Outside, flames sputtered to a stop, the embers drifting to the ground their only remains. The blood, still as fresh and bold as the day they had been made, splashed to the ground, staining the grass scarlet. Sunlight faded, trapped behind an ever-darkening cloud. Stephen’s garden wilted and died with the man he had loved.

The great sorcerer sat on the floor, oblivious to the decay outside. He was surrounded by butterflies with wings of fractured glass, jagged and ready to shatter at the barest touch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello this is much darker in the first chapter so here are some warnings...
> 
> Slightly graphic descriptions? Not very  
> Will possibly make you cry. I'm sorry.

For weeks, nearly months after Tony’s funeral, the glassy butterflies with their fractured wings hovered around Stephen. None of the Avengers dared to approach him, fearing what would happen if the wings were to break. Only Thor could see the darkness that lingered in Stephen’s eyes, on the jagged wingtips. Occasionally, for no apparent reason, the darkness would lessen and Stephen would relax as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Thor never asked, knowing he would only get a watery glare in reply.

What the Avengers couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, were the phantom embraces that would encircle Stephen when the darkness in his mind was too much, when he began to spiral into self-blame. He never needed to ask who it was, he just leaned into the ghostly hug, letting the shadow of warmth envelop him and fight back the demons in his mind.

Logically, Stephen knew it wasn’t his fault Tony was dead. Neither of them could have expected the attack on that fateful day, and he couldn’t bend the natural laws and bring someone back. Even for Earth’s best defender.

But Stephen should have been faster. He should have rushed Tony back to the Compound instead of wasting time destroying the attacker. He should have done better. He  _ could _ have done better.

Stephen felt the presence of a malicious sorcerer in the Compound’s woods even before the perimeter alarms went off in the dead of night. He stood from where he had been sleeplessly curled with a mask of stone and a storm in his eyes. He had portalled to the attacker before the other Avengers even had time to groggily pull on their gear.

By the time they made it to where the perimeter had been breached, a looming figure with his face hidden in shadow was standing over Stephen. The sorcerer was on his knees, curled into a ball with his hands trembling over his ears.

“What a great sorcerer you are, unable to save the one you loved the most! No wonder the  _ Avengers _ took you in!”

With a snarl, Clint loaded an arrow into his bow. Thor held out an arm, stopping him. The air felt heavy, charged with magic. There was a long pause, the air still as if Mother Earth was holding her breath, and Stephen’s butterflies shattered.

As they fell to the ground, the shards changed from the clear sharpness of glass to the dark, jagged edges of obsidian. With a cry, the shards sped towards the tall, shadowy man. He barely managed to conjure a flaming, blood-red shield before obsidian pierced his skin. Stephen rose as the other fell. The cloak of levitation spread behind its master like a pool of rippling blood. Stephen’s eyes darkened and behind him, the Avengers backed away.

Thunder rumbled darkly and lightning danced across the clouds, but it wasn’t Thor’s doing. The god was standing with the others, watching Stephen with a mix of fear and pity and horror frozen on his face. He went to step forward, to pull Stephen back, to do  _ something _ , but a blinding flash of purple lightning stopped him in his tracks.

When the spots cleared from his eyes, Thor froze at the sight before him. The attacker’s corpse, blackened and burnt, was sprawled in the center of a charred circle of grass. Obsidian shards surrounded it, glowing faintly purple. The only indication Stephen had ever been there was a single butterfly, shining as bright as the stars above.

* * *

 

Stephen stood on the roof of the Sanctum, eyes closed and face tilted towards the stars. The cloak whipped in the wind and shining butterflies danced around him, reflecting the constellations above.

A tear slipped down Stephen’s face and he did nothing to stop it, eyes still closed. A hand wiped it away, barely there. Stephen smiled softly.

“Tony….”

The hand brushed lightly over Stephen’s, and then Tony’s spirit was gone. Stephen slumped to his knees and opened his mouth in an anguished cry. The eerie sound echoed over Greenwich Village as shining white butterflies settled over Stephen’s body, soft warmth comforting him even as Tony no longer could.


End file.
